


I Could Be An Accident (But I'm Still Tryin')

by xheartoflifex



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic At The Disco, Real Person Fiction, The Killers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-29
Updated: 2011-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-17 09:03:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xheartoflifex/pseuds/xheartoflifex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick Stump, age 16, is completely alone in the world. That is, of course, until resident prostitute Pete Wentz walks in to fix everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Could Be An Accident (But I'm Still Tryin')

Whoever had come up with the brilliant idea to open up a twenty-four hour record store was a moron.

Or maybe it was Patrick who was the moron for applying there.

He’d only applied for the job because his mom forced him out of the house and told him to ‘get off his lazy ass and actually try and contribute to society.’ What a sweet woman she was.

The store was the first thing he saw, so he walked in and muttered something about a job. The girl with the mohawk at the counter tossed him an application and a pen before getting back to her homemade tattoos.

Luckily for him, they’d had an opening. During the graveyard shift.

So here he was at 3 AM on a Wednesday night, sitting in a completely empty dark store. That had been completely empty for the entire night. Because someone was really going to wake up at 2 AM and suddenly realize that they couldn’t go on anymore without a vinyl copy of Pablo Honey by Radiohead?

Patrick was now utterly convinced that everyone in the world was against him. He laid his head down on the counter with a groan. He was forced to work the worst shift in a shitty store in a bad part of downtown Chicago. And then, at 6:30, a half hour after his shift ended, he was expected to show up at school, bright-eyed and ready to learn.

He was only sixteen years old, and yet he was practically working 18 hour days. All for a shitty education and $8.75 an hour.

He started to flip through the tattered copy of The Catcher in the Rye he had brought with him, only to realize it was too dark to read. He kept the lights off in the store, hoping that people wouldn’t realize that they weren’t open. Even though he didn’t like go to school, he wasn’t stupid or anything. The Catcher in the Rye was his favorite book. He liked to compare himself with Holden, seeing as they were a lot alike. They were both sarcastic, not taken seriously, had horrible families… Oh, and they pretty much hated everything in their lives.

Feeling his eyelids start to droop, he closed them, hoping he could fit a doze in before he had to head off for a long day of Calculus, English and Biology. Fun fun.

He must have been out for a few minutes when he heard the bell above the door ring, jolting him awake. He jumped a bit, wondering who the fuck was here. The guy in the doorway simply stood there, rubbing his hands together and breathing heavily.

Patrick watched him watch the outside. The guy was looking to a group of people huddled under a streetlight. A car pulled up along the sidewalk where they were standing. One of the figures under the streetlight walked up to the passenger side window and began to talk to the driver. After a few minutes, he got into the car.

Patrick felt his breath catch. Downtown Chicago. Street corners. Solicitors. All lead to one thing.

Prostitutes.

He looked back to the man standing in the doorway, still focused on the outside. Patrick wasn’t really sure what to say to him. He could figure that this guy was a prostitute from the way he was looking out at the group. Patrick really didn’t care though. The longer this guy stood here, the greater the chance became that someone else would come in.. And before he knew it, the store would be overwhelmed with druggies and homeless people and Patrick would have to let them stay here or end being shot. Hopefully the latter.

“Can I help you?” he called out. Now startled, the man jumped and turned around to face Patrick.

“Whoa.”

“Yeah, hi. So. Is there something that I can get for you or do just enjoy standing in random doorways?” Patrick snapped, switching the light on.

The man looked around at the store before looking back at Patrick. He made a face that was a mixture of shock and disgust. “What are you doing here?”

At least this guy could pretend to have an IQ over 7. Patrick rolled his eyes. “Well, I just love sitting in empty rooms at night by myself, of course, who doesn’t? I work here, dumbass.”

The guy just stared at him, the same look of confusion on his face for a few seconds. Patrick watched him the entire time, eventually having to bite his lip to stop himself from bursting out laughing. He was afraid his brain had malfunctioned or something. Which was when the guy broke out in a huge toothy grin that reminded Patrick of this shark cartoon he used to watch when he was a kid.

“Cool!”

Patrick simply shook his head in exasperation and jumped off the stool from behind the counter. Maybe he had never woken up from the nap and this was all a very weird dream. Or nightmare.

At least he knew to never drink Monster after 1:00 AM now.

“So why are you here?” the guy persisted, still smiling with his too big, too white teeth.

Patrick pretended to be very focused on rearranging the eighties sections of music so he wouldn’t go off on this guy. It’s just that this guy was being really annoying right now, and Patrick didn’t have a fondness for annoying people.  All people in general actually.

But if he did happen to go off on him, it’s not like it would be big deal or anything. Because Patrick was Patrick. And at five-foot-three and barely a hundred and twenty pounds, he knew he wouldn’t be very much of a to this guy. Patrick was a scrawny little Irish boy; pale with red hair that stuck up every which way. Which was why he always wore a hat.

His new ‘friend’, however was a bit taller than him. A bit muscular. A bit tanned. A bit too perfect.

Which, of course, was what was annoying Patrick. No wonder he was a prostitute. He was a pretty boy. He had black shaggy hair that flopped into his eyes, bronzed skin, and the perfect smile.

“Well, it’s a store. And it’s full of CDs and records. So it’s safe to assume that I sell music…at a store, isn’t it?” Patrick articulated slowly, placing his hands on his barely there hips, still facing the rack of music.

He could hear him chuckle. “No, silly. What I mean is, why are you here? Like at 4 AM? Who the fuck wants to work at 4 AM in a music store?”

Patrick turned to him. “I needed a job. This was really the only place that would take me. What else was I going to do?” he replied, in a tone much softer than he had wanted to. Shit. Now wasn’t exactly the best time to come off as nice guy.

“Hey, that’s cool. I have my priorities too,” he answered, his voice dropping in volume a bit. The guy was looking outside towards the streets, a slight look of sadness on his face.

Patrick frowned. He dropped the copy of The Cure’s Pornography that he had been clutching.

“Um, what was your name?” Patrick asked, raising his eyebrows as he started to walk up to strange character standing in the middle of the store.

“Pete.” The guy stuck out his hand.

Patrick ignored the gesture completely. “Yeah. Pete. From what I just heard and all that…stuff going on out there,” Patrick motioned to the street right outside. “No one’s forcing you to do what you do. That’s your choice.” This was one of the moments Patrick wished he was taller. Delivering a speech like this from three inches below Pete’s eyes wasn’t giving the commanding presence he’d always seen in movies.

Pete opened his mouth, only to close it right after. He smiled, and then shook his head. “You know, you’re the first person I’ve ever met who’s said something like that to me.”

This wasn‘t the response Patrick had been expecting. He‘d wanted yelling, screaming, cursing, even beating. Not calm and rational! Slightly shocked, Patrick replied, “Like what?”

“It was my choice, in the end. People who find out about my...career selection, they either feel they need to shun me or have pity on me. You’re the first who gave me your honest opinion. Like I know we just met and whatever...but it really means a lot to me,” Pete said, rolling up the sleeves of his maroon leather jacket.

Who was this guy? First he’s hyperactive all over the place, and now he’s an emotional philosopher. Make up your mind, Patrick thought to himself.

“So why do you do it? If you don’t like people’s response and all...” he asked, walking back to behind the glass countertop. Pete walked up to it, looking at the covers of the most prized records in the store. Propping his chin in his hands, he looked at Patrick.

“Like you said. This was the only place that would take me,” he responded as he aimed his thumb out to the lighted streets of Chicago. Patrick pressed his lips together. He felt this weird feeling in his stomach, and he couldn’t help but feel that it was guilt. The ‘Nice Patrick’ was telling him to be nicer to Pete, have some pity on him, while the ‘Mean Patrick’ was saying who cares about some hooker that happens to be in the store tonight, you’ll never see him again. Mean Patrick always won. Nice Patrick was just there to make him feel like he actually wasn’t the spawn of Satan.

“It’s not as bad as everyone thinks it is. I get the money, and just go do what I have to...”

“And this is where I stop listening,” Patrick cut him off, a harsh smile on his face.

“Aw, come on, you don’t want to hear all the juicy details?” Pete teased.

“Ooo, wish I could, but it is now...5:54. Time flies when you’re having fun, and my shift is over in about six minutes,” Patrick said, a bit of happiness in his voice as he looked down at his piece of crap phone.

“What? Really?” Pete asked, hint of sadness in his voice. His posture deflated.

Patrick looked over at him. His brown eyes were big with disappointment. “Yeah. I only work from 11 to 6, Monday thru Friday. Sorry. I did, erm, enjoy this, thing we had, whatever you want to call it.” He reached behind the desk and grabbed his worn out backpack and slid it over his shoulders.

As he walked over to the cash register, Pete followed him. “Exactly why are you still here?” Patrick asked as he began to organize the cash register that was pretty much the same as when he came.

Pete shrugged. “I don’t really know. My shift actually ended at 3. But I wanted to get warm before I had to walk back to my apartment. So I walked in to what I had always thought was an abandoned building and surprise! I found you! Time does fly when you’re having fun,” Pete said, pulling out his Sidekick and looking at the time. Patrick could easily recognize the genuineness in Pete’s voice. This guy was for real.

“So where are you off to now? You wanna go hang out? Get some food?” Pete asked as the two of them walked out the door of the store into the slightly chilly morning air. The sun was coming up over the horizon.

Patrick looked at his backpack and then at Pete. “Um. I have to go to school now,” he said slowly.

Pete gave Patrick an ‘are you kidding me look’. He grabbed Patrick by the shoulder. “Seriously? You have to go to school now? But you just worked all night.”

“Well, most sixteen year olds are enrolled in school, so yes, I do have to go to school,” Patrick replied, a slight smile coming up on his face.

“You’re only sixteen?” Pete asked. Patrick nodded. “And you just do this every day?”

Patrick shrugged. “What else would I do?”

“Well, what do your parents think about you like never being home?”

“They don’t care. They don’t miss me, and I don’t miss them. Okay? Is that it, Dr. Phil?” Patrick snapped, pulling out from under Pete’s grip. Seeing the sudden shock on Pete’s face, he took a deep breath.

So sometimes he flipped a shit a bit fast. Who didn’t? But, most of the time it was at his mom or dad who didn’t give a shit about him. This was just some guy he’d met off the street. The least Patrick could do was pretend to be nice. “Look, it was very nice to meet you. You made my night go by a lot quicker. But I have to get to school. So have a nice day.”

Patrick started to walk in the direction of his high school when Pete yelled out “Wait!”

He sighed and turned around. Just pretending to be nice, he told himself. You’re almost away. Just do it.

“You never told me your name.”

Patrick smiled. “Patrick. My name is Patrick.”

Pete grinned and waved. “Okay. Bye Patrick.”

* * *

Patrick had had every intention of forgetting about this morning’s events and never thinking about them again. For all he cared, they had never happened.

Yet, that was exactly what he couldn’t do.

Throughout his entire day of school, while he sat in the back of classrooms not paying attention, all he could think about was the bright white smile. It left him feeling sick to his stomach.

Fact is, Patrick didn’t like letting people in. Because once he did, there was nowhere to hide. Yet Pete had come in, and in a matter of three hours, managed to learn more about Patrick than some of Patrick’s so-called friends that he had had for years.

Why some hooker was interested in talking to him, he wasn’t exactly sure. It’s not like he was interesting. And he wasn’t nice to Pete either.

Damn it, he needed to stop thinking altogether. Nice Patrick was going to eventually win a fight if this kept going on.

When he walked through the front door of his house around three o’clock, exhausted, he was greeted by his father passed out on the couch.

“Surprise, surprise,” he muttered under his breath. When his father wasn’t telling Patrick to get a life (literally) or fighting with his mother, he was drunk off his ass on the couch.

Patrick wondered if the Jerry Springer show was accepting new stories. A drunken father, an uptight slutty mother, and Patrick would make for a great show.

He dropped his backpack on the floor by the door so he’d take it when he left for work in a few hours. Grabbing a bag of pretzels and a Coke, he stomped up to his bedroom. This was his day-to-day routine. School, bedroom, work, repeat. Then the weekends came, and he tried to escape with the few acquaintances he had.

As he stepped into his room, he tried to not cringe at the god-awful pink color that greets him, but it’s just become habit now.

Yep. His parents were expecting a girl. And once they got Patrick, they didn’t feel like repainting the room. They claimed it was too much money, and when Patrick claimed he would pay for it, too much work. So for the past sixteen years, Patrick had been living in a pink room.

Which does a job on an already volatile boy’s self-esteem.

He threw the stuff on his desk and collapsed onto his bed face down. There’s just something about walking into this room that sets something off in Patrick. His parents had always been shitty to him, but he’d always known that. They lived their ‘important’ lives and only talked to Patrick when they needed to, always in a condescending tone. He tried to convince himself that he didn’t care and he was better off this way. Then he wouldn’t have to concern himself with insignificant stuff like small talk and parents breathing down his neck every two seconds.

But he was only sixteen, no matter how much he tried to act like he was more mature. And any sixteen year old in their right mind needs a parent, or at least someone who gives a fuck. Friends would come in handy at this point, but Patrick’s stony exterior kept people at a distance. All he had were a couple acquaintances, and that was saying a lot.

Burying his face under his pillow, he felt the burning in the back of his eyes. He shut them tight, hoping it would all just go away. After swallowing a few times, he pushed the tears back. Maybe the world would just open up and swallow him whole. It’d save him from the miserable existence he was living in right now.

Patrick Stump can’t cry. Ever. Patrick shouldn’t even show any emotions. Because showing emotions meant destroying the walls that Patrick had been building for so long. And Patrick was smarter than that. He’d surrounded himself with barriers to protect himself, and breaking down now would simply supersede all of his efforts.

But right now, as he does in every second, every minute, every day of his life, Patrick feels utterly and completely alone.

* * *

That night at work, as he tried to label the organelles of an animal cell on a biology worksheet, he found himself constantly looking outside to the streetlight where they were all standing. He realizes what he was actually doing, and scolds himself. He isn’t looking for anyone, he tells himself. He just wants to see what’s going on. But he finds himself looking outside again, and this time doesn’t look away.

They were all dressed nicely – for prostitutes at least. They wore tight pants and their hair was styled and some of them were even wearing eyeliner.

But Patrick still couldn’t find him.

It’s going on 2, and he can’t find him, which can only mean one thing. A feeling of nausea rises in Patrick’s stomach as he thinks about it more, but he makes himself stop and focuses on the worksheet in front of him. Or pretends to at least.

What the fuck, dude, Mean Patrick starts. Why do you even care? He was just some guy you met?

At 2:30, he gets up from his stool with a stiff butt. He walked around the store, feeling anxious. He’d survived at work by himself before, but now, after last night, he wanted company. He kept a watchful eye outside.

‘You don’t need anyone. Why let anyone in? So he can just come in and be hyperactive and annoying and all over the place?’  Mean Patrick continued.

He switched on the light in the store and began to flip through some music to try and find an album he wanted to put on that would hopefully get his mind off of you-know-who.

In his hands were the two albums that he always played: Dookie by Green Day and Let’s Dance by David Bowie. Only now was the part of making the decision.

“Bowie. All the way. Although I commend you on the Green Day choice,” a voice said from the doorway. Patrick turned around to find Pete in the doorway, smiling.

“What are you doing here?” Patrick asked callously, but pulled the Bowie album out of the sleeve and walked over to the record player.

“I told you, my shift ends at 3 AM. The only way it doesn’t is if I’m paid to spend the night, and that rarely happens. So here I am. I figured you could use some company. Besides, what else am I going to do?” Pete laughed, walking behind the counter uninvited. He leaned against it. Patrick raised his eyebrows.

“So...” Patrick said, looking at Pete.

“Bowie? You? Really?” Pete said, looking back and forth from the colorful album sleeve to Patrick. “You don’t seem like the type who’s gonna rock out to David. You seem like...”

Here we go, Patrick thought. Stupid appearance based assumptions. Just what I need. I already get enough of those from my parents and peers, but now this guy is going to give them to me as well. “I seem like what? Like I’m some emo freak that does nothing but listen to shitty Marilyn Manson all night long and think about how terrible my life is deliberating on when is the appropriate time to slit my wrists?”

Pete chuckled, his eyes sparkling. “Well, if that’s the truth, then that’s fine with me. But from your tone of voice then I’m guessing it’s not. And just for kicks and giggles, I was actually going to say sad. You seem very sad. Bowie wouldn’t be the kind of music you listen to.” Pete pushed himself off the counter and began to walk through the store, looking at records an amused look on his face. His lips were moving slightly, like he was saying things to himself.

Patrick couldn’t focus on his. In fact he couldn’t focus on anything right now.

No one had ever talked to him like this ever. No one cared enough to give a shit about him. Yet once again, this random prostit – Pete – was seeing through everything. The make-believe walls took another tumble.

Patrick swallowed. “Why would you say something like that?” His voice wavered.

Pete frowned and shrugged. “I can read people. It’s my job. I have to be able to see past people’s appearances,” he replied as he walked up to Patrick. Close enough that Pete’s warm breath hit Patrick’s nose. Pete became quieter. “I can see it in your eyes. You look like you’re going to cry at any minute, but you hold it back as if you’re scared.”

He stared at Pete for a minute before turning away sharply with a gasp. “You don’t even know what you’re saying. I’m not sad. I’m not scared. I’m fine.” But the unmistakable crack in Patrick’s voice was enough to tell Pete everything.

Before he knew it, two arms were wrapping themselves around his waist from behind. “You don’t have to be alone all the time, you know? You’re only a kid. That’s asking a lot.”

Patrick didn’t move. He couldn’t even breathe right now. Pete turned him around so they were face to face. “Whatever it is, whatever you call this, it can all be fixed. Don’t worry.” He squeezed Patrick tighter.

“No, it can’t,” Patrick mumbled into Pete’s shoulder, putting the sudden lapse of judgment up to his slightly shaken state.

“Why?”

“Because it can’t.”

“Then just tell me.”

Patrick pulled away from Pete. “Why do you care so much? What makes me, fucking Patrick Stump, a 16 year old fuck with no friends so important? Why are you wasting your time here?”

Pete smiled sweetly. “I like you. You’re a cool kid. I’ve never met someone like you before.”

Patrick watched him for a minute before sighing. “If you insist...” And with that, Patrick, who consider himself a private person, emptied his soul to a guy he’d only met the day before.

  
* * *

Pete walked into the store right on time at 3 AM, and immediately from the atmosphere he brought with him, Patrick sensed something was wrong. He walked over to the light switch like normal and turned it on slowly. He looked out of the corner of his eye at Pete.

Patrick’s breath caught. Pete’s hair and clothes, which were usually flawless, were a mess. His lip was split, and a large, discoloration on his right cheek was an allusion to the formation of a bruise. Add that to the strange way Pete was walking, and Patrick’s stomach was turning.

“What happened?” Patrick muttered, coming around from behind the counter. He couldn’t believe that someone would do something like this to someone like Pete. He wasn’t sure where these feelings where coming from, but they were there.

Pete shrugged, wincing a bit. “Part of the job.”

“You’re lying to me and I know it,” Patrick argued, crossing his arms.

“Look, it’s no big deal. There’s nothing to worry about...”

“It obviously is a big deal, or you wouldn’t have gotten beaten and banged,” Patrick said bluntly, still firm in his resolution.

Pete sighed, rolling his eyes. “If I tell you, will that make you happy?”

“Sure.”

Patrick was Irish, which meant he was stubborn. Of course he was going to stick to his guns until he got what he wanted to. Right now, he wanted to know what the fuck was going on with Pete because it seemed like right now, they were all each other had.

“Whereas most prostitutes work only for themselves, I’m one of a few who doesn’t. I’m part of one of those stupid rings that are always seen getting busted on TV…I was seventeen when I dropped out of high school and was kicked out of my house by my parents. I didn’t have money or an education. So I needed money lent to me. My friend Ryan told me about this guy named Brandon who would give me the money. At that point, I didn’t know what I was getting into. So I went to him, and we talked for a while, and he loaned me $50,000 so I could lease an apartment. I figured that now I had an apartment, I could maybe get a job and just pay him back slowly. A job like this actually. Menial but steady. He had other things in mind,” Pete trailed off, tracing his finger in circle on the glass counter.

Patrick simply looked at him, because he didn’t know what to say. All he could do was picture seventeen year-old Pete with nowhere to go. He was naïve and probably saw the best in everyone, like he always did in Patrick.

“He’s the reason why I have this job today. I still owe him a good $9,000. He claims that he told me that he charges interest, but he never did. So five years and over $50,000 later, I’m still his fucking bitch...literally…” Pete whispered, placing his head into his hands.

“He’s like the Godfather of Prostitution...” Patrick mumbled, raising an eyebrow. Pete chuckled from his palms. Patrick smiled that he got a response from Pete.

“Good name for him, Trickster. But yeah, that’s him... Brandon motherfucking Flowers.”

“Why did he do this to you tonight?” Patrick asked softly, motioning to the cut on Pete’s lip. He wanted to make Pete feel better, but he didn’t know any way to do that.

“Cause I told him I was sick of his shit and I had worked long enough for him. I said that I can’t do this for my whole life. I want to be more than a streetwalker, you know?” Pete said, his voice rising. Then, his whole character dropped. He frowned, shaking his head. “He simply laughed at me and told me that it was all I was good at, so why fucking bother? He said, ‘I’ll show you what you’re good for.’ And he did. Because he’s always right…”

Patrick swallowed, trying not to picture any of what Pete had just said. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to will away the unsettlement in him before saying “What the fuck does he know? He’s the mob leader of prostitutes. You have other...talents than most prostitutes do. You smart, you have good taste in music, and you know when a person, namely me, needs a friend,” Patrick replied.

Pete looked at him, a small smile on his face. “You’re such a sap.”

Patrick shrugged. “Only for you.” Pete responded by pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

“So, tomorrow is Saturday, and if I remember clearly, it is your day off. Am I right?”

Patrick nodded, pulling himself up onto the glass countertop so that his legs swung back and forth. Pete grabbed his feet and began to throw them back and forth like a cat with a ball of yarn. Patrick watched him amused.

“You were saying?” Patrick interrupted, a smile still on his face.

“Oh. Yeah. So, I happen to have tomorrow off too. Wanna do something? My friend Ryan is going to be out of town with his boyfriend Brendon, so I could borrow his car and we could go do something. You up for it?”

Nice Patrick was screaming ‘YESYESYESYESYES.’ But the Mean Patrick, who still had a small grip left, had his doubts.

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, what else could you possibly do on Saturdays that would be better than hanging out with me?” Pete whined, looking up at Patrick with big puppy-dog eyes.

Patrick groaned. “You are such a toddler.”

“I know. That’s why you love me. But seriously. Tomorrow. What do you do on Saturdays that is so important that you can’t spend the day with me?”

In all honesty, Patrick usually spent most weekends at his closest friend Joe’s house. Because over 48 straight hours with his parents, and he would have killed himself long ago.

“Exactly. You have nothing planned. Which means you’re coming with me. So I’ll see you tomorrow. Well, actually, later, because it’s already Saturday. Anyway, be excited. Because you get to see me,” Pete said as he tapped Patrick’s knees.

And as much as Patrick didn’t want to admit it, he was already excited.  
***  
Later that night around 5 PM, Patrick was standing in his bedroom, facing a problem he never thought he would. His clothes were strewn across his bed. Standing only in his boxers and a pair of socks, he felt like a teenage girl. But truth be told, he had nothing to wear.

He began to pull pieces of clothing out. Most of them were t-shirts, ratty and worn out from the washing machine. Those weren’t cool enough for wherever Pete was taking him. He did have nicer ones. He went through those until he finally settled on a Saves the Day shirt and a pair of faded jeans.

After he pulled his brim hat on, he walked down the stairs. Pete was going to be here any minute. His mother met him at the bottom at the stairs.

“Where the hell are you going?” she scoffed, turning her nose up at him.

“Out. What does it look like?” Patrick muttered, avoiding eye contact with her.

She snorted in amusement. “You’re going out? Why would anyone in there right mind want to hang out with you? You don’t have any friends,” she scoffed. Patrick bit his tongue in hopes that he wouldn’t say something he’d later regret considering he was going to have to see her again.

If this was just a one time thing, he would be fine in telling her that her that she could wear all the makeup she wanted and get a boob job and spend all of her money on clothes that made her ass look huge...and she still looked like a 47 year old mother. And an ugly one at that.

“Yes. I am. And I do,” Patrick said through clenched teeth. He balled his fist at his side. What had made the God he didn’t believe in hate him so much to fuck him with this life?

“Sure...whatever you say,” she responded, pursing her lip in an amused way. “Wait till your father hears about this...” she muttered under her breath.

Patrick felt his fist begin to twitch. His mother’s face was just itching to be hit by his fist, he knew it. Any second now. Those chemically whitened teeth would all fall out on the floor. Bounce around like Chiclets. Maybe break that sculpted nose too.

Just as Patrick was about to slam her fist into her face, there was a knock at the door. Patrick and his mother both look up from their stare down. She rolled her eyes at him and sashayed over to get the door like she always did, bouncing her butt as she went.

He resisted the urge to gag to himself at this sight. He heard his mother swing the door open, and then what was music to his ears.

“Hi. Is Patrick there?”

His mother sputtered and stuttered over her words. Patrick smiled widely, realizing who was at the door.

“Are you okay? You must be Patrick’s mom. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you from Patrick over there,” Pete kept talking, motioning to Patrick, who was now grinning.

His mother was still in complete awe at the young man who was standing at the door. Patrick walked up to her and looked back and forth from Pete to her, and back again.

“I’m Pete,” he continued as he stuck out a hand. Patrick’s mother looked at it as if he was offering her a dead animal. She hesitantly grabbed it and shook it.

“You ready, Trickster?” Pete asked. Patrick nodded, shoving his mother out of the way. He slammed the door in her face without saying a word to her.

“Wow. Wow. I see what you mean there. You got a hostile relationship going on there with that woman, if there’s any actual human left under all of the silicone,” Pete said as he whistled quietly. The two of them walked out to Pete’s – well, it was actually Ryan Ross’s – slightly beat up Honda Accord. As soon as Patrick climbed into the front seat, he was assaulted by the smell of sex, sweat, and a vanilla car freshener. It suited a friend of Pete’s.

“Yeah. She’s a bitch. Not much else to it,” Patrick chuckled, buckling himself in. Pete laughed as he started the car. He felt comfortable in this car. It was a lot different than Joe’s 1986 Toyota that was practically falling apart. Pete jabbed the button on his radio until Lifetime was playing softly over the speakers.

“So Petey. Where exactly are we going tonight?” Patrick asked. Pete turned to him with a huge grin that he was unable to contain.

“Somewhere amazing. You’re going to love it. I already know you are. I love it, so I know you will,” he exclaimed, the smile taking over his face.

Patrick laughed. “Okay. But where is this place. I mean, you could love skinnydipping in the ocean, but I’m not going to feel the same way...”

Pete placed his hand on Patrick’s shoulder waggling his eyebrows. “If you were with me in that ocean, you’d definitely love it.” Patrick looked at him, hoping that the blush in his cheeks was hidden since the sun was going down. “We’re going to a club. Well, not really club. More of bar in Evanston to see a fucking amazing band play.”

Patrick bit on his lip. All he could think was ‘This better not be somewhere that checks ID’. Because he could suddenly imagine that his age would be something that would slip Pete’s mind. And he’d be stuck outside the building while this so-called amazing band played and Pete went in and worked his charismatic magic on other guys like himself.

But Patrick, of course, wouldn’t be jealous.

“What’s the name of this ‘fucking amazing band’ anyway?” Patrick asked.

“Arma Angelus. Dude. They’re so good. You have no idea,” Pete said, and then made a noise which sounded a bit like a squeak. Patrick gave him a strange look. Pete was grinning ear to ear and bouncing slightly in his seat. Patrick had figured he was going be able to take Pete more seriously because he wasn’t in his usual ‘street’ clothes. Tonight he was wearing a teal colored sweatshirt and a tight pair of black jeans. But even in semi-normal clothes, Pete was still Pete. Patrick loved that. And everything else about Pete.

But it’s not like Patrick was keeping track or anything.

“Well, how do you know they’re so good? I mean, they could’ve changed since you last saw them. Why should I trust your opinion on this band?” Patrick argued back playfully, trying to hide the grin on his face.

The ear-to-ear grin, if possible became even bigger. Pete looked as if he was going to fly off his seat in excitement. He clutched the steering wheel. “Because...you’re talking to the lead singer and bassist. You’re with the band tonight, Tricky!”

* * *

The club was crowded and noisy and it smelled like sweaty teenagers, smoke and booze. Pot was also drifting through the air, so add that into the mix, and Patrick was definitely out of his element.

But Patrick didn’t care at all. Because he was so excited to be here, he could barely contain himself. Pete had brought him in and had introduced him to all of his band mates as ‘Trickster, the coolest sixteen year old ever’. As Patrick climbed off the stage and took one of the front floor spots, Pete winked at him.

When the houselights went out and the stage lights lit up, Patrick’s stomach flipped. He looked up at Pete, who was talking to the crowd and bantering back and forth. He was grinning at the crowd, and as Patrick looked around, he noticed that the crowd was pretty much drooling over him. If Patrick didn’t have as much self-control, he’d probably be doing the same.

He tried to listen to the music, but at this point, trying to use two senses at once was too much work on his buzzing brain. If he tried to listen and comprehend the music, he couldn’t gape at Pete, who was practically beaming under the spotlight. Besides, if Pete was playing and singing in this band, it was bound to be good.

The band was signing autographs and getting hugs and proclamations from their usual groupies. Patrick, starting to feel a little bit crowded, wandered back towards the bar area. Feeling a bit gross, he pulled his hat off and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He shoved his hand into his pocket, fingering around for his wallet. He turned to the bar, hoping he could get a water or something.

After pulling a five dollar bill out of his pocket, he tried to wave the bartender down. The muscular, thirtysomething year old was enamored with the pixie haired chick at the other side of the bar who was throwing back a rum and coke. Patrick groaned, laying his forehead down onto his arms.

“Hey, let me get that for you,” a voice said from behind him as a warm hand came down on his shoulder. He turned and found himself face to face with a brunette, much taller than he was. From the magical age-guessing power Patrick had been born with, he could estimate that the guy was in his late-twenties, maybe early-thirties. He wasn’t bad looking, not the type Patrick wanted of course, but not bad: brown shaggy hair, eyebrow piercing, worn blue and grey flannel shirt and ripped jeans.

Patrick started up at him and made some incomprehensible noise. The guy whistled and waved the bartender down. Mr. Bartender rolled his eyes, gave a sweet smile to Pixie Chick, and wandered down to the guy.

“Two Coronas, please.” Flannel dropped a twenty on the counter and turned back to Patrick. The bartender gave Patrick a once-over before placing two frosty bottles on the counter. Flannel grabbed his and popped the top. Patrick was still stunned, so it took him a moment to realize that the other bottle was meant for him. His hand was trembling when he grabbed the bottle. He popped the top just like Flannel, who was in mid-swig.

Patrick felt like he couldn’t breathe right now, but he realized if he didn’t do anything, he figured he was going to get caught for something stupid like trying to drink underage in a bar. So he brought the bottle to his lips and took a sip.

Surprising as it may sound, Patrick had never drank before. Living with a father who liked to drink can do that to you. So when he swallowed the first bit, his head swam a little bit, but then it all settled very nicely, like a warm buzzing in the back of his brain.

“So, you like this band?” Patrick asked, trying to start a conversation.

Flannel nodded. “Yeah, they’re really great. I love the lead singer of the band. He’s so passionate and everything. Wish I could be like him.”

Yeah, Patrick thought, wouldn’t we all? He found himself taking another swig of the beer instinctively. “I know. The...lyrics were pretty impressive.” Patrick knew shit about the lyrics because he was staring up at Pete the entire time. Yet as the minutes kept passing, Patrick kept looking up towards the stage. Pete was still up there, chatting away happily with his fans.

Patrick turned back and stared down at his bottle. Suddenly, he felt out of place. Pete had made him feel so welcome, and now he just felt like a tag-along. Like Pete had felt bad for him and only brought him along because Patrick was pathetic or something. Another swig. The bottle was now empty. Patrick knew he should be shocked and disgusted and morally outraged with himself. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

Flannel, who was opening a new bottle himself, simply smiled and waved the bartender down again. “So, you here with anyone tonight?”

Patrick sighed, thinking, ‘I was. Then they forgot about me. Just like everyone else does.’

Patrick opened his mouth to say yes, he was here with the band, but he then realized the way Flannel was glancing at his eyes, his mouth, his chest, his everything. And suddenly ‘here with anyone’ was being used in a totally different context.

“No,” he responded, sounding like he was asking himself. He grabbed the cold beer off the counter and twisted off the top like he’d been doing it all his life. An image of Pete flashed through his head, but he blinked it away.

It wasn’t like they were married. It wasn’t like Pete had even showed any sort of interest in Patrick. For all Patrick knew, Pete simply was taking pity on him. There was no mutual attraction being shared between the two of them.

Patrick picked up his bottle and rested it on his lower lip. This was a quite a predicament that he had no idea what to do in. He took a sip and as he did, he realized that Flannel had moved closer to him. His warm breath, smelling like a weird mix of spearmint and Corona, met Patrick’s cheeks, which were now rosy due to the alcohol and the situation he was finding himself in.

Flannel had a mischievous grin on his face. His hand rested on Patrick’s knee for a moment before it began to move upward. His fingers began to knead as they met Patrick’s thigh. Patrick’s chest tightened. Flannel’s hand continued to move, dancing up Patrick’s hip until it settled comfortably under his shirt.

As Flannel traced his fingers up and down Patrick’s side, making sure to dip below the waistline of Patrick’s jeans, tracing lines over the slightly feverish skin of his abdomen. Patrick felt his stomach tremble involuntary as Flannel‘s hand began to work slack between Patrick‘s skintight jeans and his waistline. He bit his lip to stop himself from whimpering. Fuck his hormones and their lack of control.

All while Patrick was trying to think of what the fuck had happened to him tonight and how did he go from feeling like he was on top of the world and most likely head over heels in love with Pete to being felt up at the bar and what was he going to do now and since when did he do this – Flannel took his other hand under Patrick’s jaw line. He trailed over the contours of it with his thumb before leading Patrick’s face to his and smashing their lips together in messy kiss.

It was a meeting of teeth and lips and…just everything. Which was when it hit Patrick that he was kissing another guy. And he didn’t even know his name. That’s when the sixteen year old boy inside of him kicked in and he started to freak out.

But Flannel smoothed his tongue along Patrick’s lower lip, tugging it between his teeth. Patrick felt his insides clench in unease. But his hormones had a mind of their own and began to take over. His mouth opened, and then Flannel’s tongue was in his mouth.

Stay calm. Everything’s going to turn out fine. Just stay rational and you’ll get through it, Nice Patrick said. Mean Patrick didn’t even bother showing up with his rant. 

Patrick suddenly felt dizzy from the bright lights, heat, lack of oxygen, alcohol, anything. His body felt heavy and his head was starting to pound and Flannel’s lips had moved down his neck. Sucking at a spot on Patrick’s throat, he smiled into the skin. “You wanna take this back to my place?” he whispered.

Patrick closed his eyes tight and wanted nothing more than to be shot dead by lightning right now. Tilting his head back, he tried to get away from Flannel. However, Flannel saw that simply as an opportunity to get some more neck. He laughed lowly, adding “Well, you should’ve just said something…”

Patrick just wanted everything to go away. But he wasn’t exactly the type to say rationally ‘Excuse me, I hate being a burden, but could you please remove your lips from my neck? I’m not feeling very comfortable in these circumstances. Thanks for being a doll!’ Moreover, he didn’t even know who this guy was and if he secretly was chainsaw murderer. If Patrick was to upset him, was he going to become his next victim? He was a slightly intoxicated and horny sixteen year old at a bar, what else was he supposed to do?

“Come on. Let’s go…” Flannel whispered harshly, hooking his finger into Patrick’s belt loop. He pulled away for a moment. Patrick felt like he couldn’t breathe. Flannel smiled, lips shiny and pink, and nodded his head toward the door. With a sharp tug of his arm, Patrick came off the stool to his feet. He stood there for a moment, staring at Flannel. Flannel waited. It seemed like an hour to Patrick. But as time passed, Flannel’s expression slowly changed, and the finger that was wrapped around the belt loop tightened, pulling the two of them closer together.

After holding his breath for what felt like the past hour, Patrick deflated, feeling crushed. He finally realized that he no longer had a choice in any of what was happening.

Which was when someone behind them cleared their throat.

Patrick could easily figure who it was, and wanted to jump for joy and die all at the same time.

Flannel slid his finger out of Patrick‘s belt loop, grumbling as he did. “Fuckin - dude. Back the fuck off. It’s not like he’s with you. He isn’t with anyone. So what the fuck’s your issue? Mind your own business,” Flannel mumbled angrily. Patrick dropped his head, looking down to the floor, sinking back onto the bar stool. He stared intently at the tip of his sneaker so he wouldn’t have to look up. All he wanted to do right now was to curl up into a ball and die.

“He is with me, actually. He just gets confused a lot. Like letting jerks with fucking lame eyebrow piercings try to get him drunk so they can get into his pants,” Pete defended, staying extremely cool. Patrick looked up at him from under the brim of his hat. Pete stood there with his arms crossed, staring down at Flannel. His gaze wasn’t breaking, his lips were set in a firm line; it was a serious look for Pete. It suited him, and yet it didn’t. Patrick turned around on his stool so his back was to Pete.

Flannel mumbled a bunch of profanities. He looked at Patrick, a playful look still in his eye. He blew a kiss at Patrick before getting off the stool and sauntering away.

Patrick could feel Pete’s eyes on the back of his neck. He couldn’t tell if the look in Pete’s eye was a look of pity, or more of disappointment. Pete stood watching Patrick for a while before he sat down on the stool where Flannel had been. He placed his cool hand on the back of Patrick’s neck, but didn’t say anything.

Patrick looked out of the corner of his eye at Pete. Pete held his forehead in his hand, rubbing his temple with his hand. His tan skin looked abnormally pale.

“Patrick...” Pete muttered in a gravely tone, not lifting his head up. “What the fuck am I going to do with you?”

The question confused Patrick, but made him feel strangely settled that Pete was right next to him again.

Patrick opened his mouth to say something, but his tongue felt abnormally large in his mouth. He sighed instead, dropping his head. Pete grabbed onto his hand. “Let’s get out of here. Okay?”

* * *

The ride home from the club had been silent. Patrick stared out the window the entire time, his hands firmly pressed between his knees. Through the whole ride, he could feel Pete watching him when he wasn’t watching the road. He wanted to say something to Pete; an assurance that this was no big deal and he was going to be fine. Laugh it off and act like the cool guy that he knew he wasn’t. But for some reason, it had really shaken Patrick. And that made him feel even worse about himself.

Because it wasn’t like being bought drinks and making out with a handsome stranger in a bar was horribly traumatic. It could make an average person feel a little uneasy, sure, but it wouldn’t send them into a catatonic state for a month where you needed to be carted off to the insane asylum.

But, like he was in every case, Patrick was different than everyone every average person. Put together - 1. An insanely large crush on a prostitute that you’ve met only three days earlier, 2. A psyche so fucked up not even Dr. Phil could fix it, and 3. Still being a scared little boy at heart even though he so desperately tried to put on the ‘I’m such a fucking badass’ exterior.

Pete pulled the car up in front of the Stump’s house. He stopped it, resting his hands on the steering wheel, staring down at it.

Patrick wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to thank Pete for the night, but it seemed a little strange to do that now. “I’m - I’m going to go now,” Patrick whispered, barely audible. But before he could get out of the car, Pete had grabbed onto his hand. He held on to it, still staring down at the steering wheel.

“Wait. Let me come with you,” he eventually said, his voice filled with anguish. He slowly let go of Patrick’s hand and climbed out of the car. Patrick stared at him for a moment before following him in.

As they began to walk up the sidewalk to the house, Pete wrapped his arm around Patrick, pulling him close. The simple gesture, no words attached to it at all, made the awful feeling that was currently settling into Patrick’s stomach lessen.

The two of them headed up to Patrick’s room, and although in every other case but this one, Patrick would’ve embarrassedly tried to explain the reason for the color of his room. But right now, he felt like Pete didn’t care about things like that. Plus, he just didn’t have the energy for it.

Pete stood in the hot pink room for a minute, simply staring at Patrick, who was walking to his closet to drop his sweatshirt inside of it. When he turned back to face Pete, Pete’s shoulders dropped. He couldn’t even look at Patrick without feeling like his heart was breaking.

Pete sat down on Patrick’s bed, grabbing onto Patrick’s wrist as he did. He pulled him over and wrapped his arms around him. Patrick gave in and sat down next to him as close as he could. He silently laid his head down on Pete’s shoulder. Pete, albeit slightly surprised but nonetheless happy by this, wrapped his arms around Patrick.

He’d only know Patrick for three days now, and yet, he felt like he was closer to him than anyone he’d ever known. Standing a foot away at the bar tonight, Pete couldn’t help but watch. It was like a car crash in slow motion. Patrick was squirming desperately, wanting to pull away but not having enough willpower to do so. So he just let it happen.

And if Pete hadn‘t stepped in, who knows what else would’ve happened…

Just everything that went on, all of it piling up - his home life, his parents, his job - Pete couldn’t understand how someone didn’t crack under all of those circumstances. It was like Patrick was trying to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, but in the process, he’d forgotten about himself.

As something warm and wet began to soak through the shoulder of his sweatshirt, he realized that he was probably the witness to Patrick‘s first breaking.

All he could do was sit there and hold him. He wanted to say something so badly, but what was there to say? There was really nothing that could ever make him feel better. Patrick was living in a world where no one had given a fuck about him.

Until now, Pete thought to himself as he wrapped his arms a little bit tighter around Patrick.

* * *

Patrick opened his eyes groggily with a scummy taste in his mouth and a pounding headache. He clutched his head, trying to think about everything that had happened previously when he accidentally elbowed someone in the face, who then emitted a string of profanities.

Patrick’s eyes bulged, because there usually is never a good time for someone else to be in your bed, especially when you can’t remember it.

“Hey Tricky,” Pete said softly, pulling his arms off of Patrick, untangling the two of them. He rubbed the eye Patrick had delivered a good hit to while still smiling with his pearly whites.

“Hey. Sorry about that,” Patrick replied in a monotone voice, motioning to Pete’s eye.

Pete laughed. “Don’t worry about it.” He watched as Patrick sat up against his pillows and looked at the door, as if he was waiting for something. As Pete found himself watching the door too, he slowly began to realize why he was staring so intently at the door.

“Don’t your parents…care about you at all?” Pete asked bluntly, wincing a bit. When Pete was a teen, his parents weren’t too thrilled with him, but if he had come home around 3 in the morning with a random stranger, they would’ve wanted to know what was wrong. Or ground him until he was fifty six. “I mean, it’s just, I don’t even know what to say.”

Patrick laughed darkly. “Neither do I anymore. But I’ve gotten used to it,” he said, still laughing. He climbed out of bed, leaving Pete watching him, a questioning look on his face. He watched as Patrick climbed over the piles of clothes on the floor to the door, which he leaned against, a grin plastered on his face. “Every fucking day of my life, I am always alone. And they don’t care. All they care about is themselves, and what they want. I pay for everything I need besides the house and food here and there. I take care of myself. I don’t interact with them at all. And they don’t care. Because they don’t care about me.”

Pete pushed himself off the pillows, wanting to be ready to catch Patrick if he was going to break down again.  But Patrick was actually in control of his emotions for the first time, well, ever.

“I was always their ‘little mistake’. And they could never forget that. It was just stuck in their fucking subconscious that they didn’t want me in the first place, so why try to make it any easier on me? Since they can’t forget about it, let’s make it so Patrick will never forget either. I’m just a living, breathing human being with needs and wants. Asking for something like a loving family was too much!” Patrick yelled, throwing his hands up into the air.

Pete stood up silently. He strode over to Patrick in three steps. Standing face to face now, Patrick looked as if he was going to crumble at any minute. Pete wanted to save him. No person deserved to live like this.

“Leave,” Pete said simply.

Patrick stopped moving. It was almost like Pete could see the wheels start to turn in Patrick’s head as if he was thinking things over. He turned his head up towards Pete. “What?”

Pete grabbed him by the shoulders gently. “Leave. Why stay here and put yourself through this misery? They don’t care about you, and you don’t care about them either! I see you,” Pete stopped, his voice lowering, “and the only thing that I can see besides a boy who needs something that he isn’t getting…is I see myself, seven years ago, right before I was kicked out of my house.”

Patrick watched Pete run a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. “You remind me so much of myself when I was younger. Lost, naïve, just wanting someone to come and reach out to you, take you under their wing. Only no one is there for you to do it, like how no one was there for me. And you’re just going to stay lost in your world until it all falls down around you,” Pete started, his eyes traveling off of Patrick to the floor. Patrick, whose mouth opened slightly, suddenly had a feeling that this was no longer about him. Pete’s voice grew in volume.

“You hope that maybe, just maybe, someone will actually give a shit about you. But everyone is so fucking preoccupied with their own damn lives that they can’t take a second of their times to make sure that you’re okay. You’re alone and you’re scared and you’re regretting everything that you’ve ever done and you want to take it all back, but it’s too late and all you can do from here is go forward. And try not to screw it all up.” Pete finished, letting out a deep breath. He looked up at Patrick, who simply stared back at him.

In a quick, fluid motion, Patrick encircled Pete in a tangle of limbs. The two of the flopped down onto Patrick’s bed. Patrick was doubting on whether this was the ‘smart’ thing to do in a situation like this, but right now, it felt like it was the only thing to do. They needed each other, they were depending on each other, and if Patrick was going to hold himself back from something like this, he truly didn’t deserve it.

“What are do you want me to do?” Patrick asked softly, this new wave of emotions still lapping over them. Pete was playing with a random strand of strawberry colored hair when he grinned devilishly.

“Move in with me. Come live in my apartment with me and Ryan. Let me always be there for you when you need it. Let me care about you.”“  
***  
Are you serious?” Ryan asked softly, looking up from the mirror in the bathroom that they shared. He put down the green eyeliner he was holding, his eyes now extremely round in surprise.

“Ry - what else am I supposed to do? Patrick has nowhere else to turn to, and his parents certainly don’t give a shit about him. After being with him last night, I saw that he needs more than just a room in a house and a job. He needs someone to simply be with,” Pete fired back, staring at his closet and scratching the back of his neck.

Ryan laughed softly. “You sure that you’re the best thing this kid needs right now?” He popped the cap off a tube of gold glitter and began to dab it along the undersides of his eyes. Frowning, Pete walked into the bathroom, clutching a pair of sweatpants. Ryan looked at them, pulling the bottle away from his face, then up at Pete. The expression on Ryan’s face immediately changing to a mocking one to one of slight horror.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to…”

“I have to! And it’s not just for him, either. It’s for me, too. I’ve been telling myself for so long that I’m going to get out of this, and I just haven’t come around to sticking to it. Well, now I have an actual reason to do it, so why not?” Pete defied, his eyes pleading as he pulled on his sweatpants.

Glancing down into the sink, Ryan clutched onto the linoleum counter til his knuckles turned white. His face had become noticeably paler. Slowly, he turned to Pete, his eyes dark. “I don’t want to have to go to your fucking funeral because you pissed off Flowers, Pete. I’m not ready for that.”

Pete froze. He hadn’t expected Ryan to become so upset by this, and right now, it was giving him a mixture of guilt, loyalty, and slight perturb.

“You won’t. All I’m doing is asking. One more time, that’s it. If it doesn’t work, then I keep working. Okay?” Pete muttered, placing his hand gently on Ryan’s shoulder.

Ryan averted his eyes, tearing away from Pete. “Do whatever the fuck you want,” he spat as he stormed out of the bathroom.

* * *

Patrick sat at the counter of the record store on Monday evening, which was usually the busiest times of his day. He would maybe get three or four people in before it got dark. With his chin cradled in his hand, he simply stared out the window, trying not to think too heavily on what might or might not have even happened.

He hadn’t seen Pete since yesterday morning, when he left Patrick’s house, saying that he’d take care of everything. Patrick wasn’t exactly sure what he was supposed to be waiting for, or if he was supposed to be waiting at all, but he at least wanted to see Pete again.

But maybe that was even hoping for too much…

Pete had this way of making him feeling like the world wasn’t going to end all around him. He just gave him a bit of hope that the everything didn’t have to suck for him and only him and there was a slight chance for something better. For happiness. Like there was going to be a light at the end of the tunnel.

He sighed, laying his head face down on the table with a thud.

“Rough day?” a voice asked, a chuckle shining through. Patrick snapped his head up, a bit too eagerly. Wincing from the twinge in his neck, he clutched the back of it. Then, he stopped, because it wasn’t who he expected, and his face obviously read it.

“Sorry. Were you expecting someone?” the man asked with a flash of his pearly whites. He couldn’t be older than 25 and was dressed impeccably in a pair of black slacks, a black vest and a crisp white oxford with the sleeves rolled up. He walked up to the counter, still smiling.

Patrick simply sat there, at a loss for words. Whether it was because he was upset that it wasn’t Pete or because this guys was too pretty to be human, he couldn’t figure it out. While keeping a eye on the door for Pete, he watched the guy walk up, trying not to smile. Because last time this had happened, he had been felt up at a bar.

“Erm. Actually, yeah. But that’s okay. Can I help you with something?” Patrick asked, feeling his cheeks heat up. He hopped off his stool. The man chuckled, scratching at the stubble on his chin.

“Depends on what you have here. You know, it’s been a while since I’ve been to a store that’s had some good music. So let’s see if you guys do,” he mused. Patrick found himself grinning like an idiot at his words as he stepped around the counter.

“It depends on what you’re looking for, of course. I mean, we can offer you anything from crappy soundtrack to the hardest screamo you’ve ever heard, but it just depends on what you’re in the mood for,” Patrick continued, walking along the racks of music.

“What do you recommend?” the man replied, making butterflies jump up in Patrick’s stomach. He stopped, so Patrick did as well and turned to him. Patrick swallowed.

“Well, my personal tastes would give you everything along this rack. You know, Green Day, Nirvana, REM, anything like that. So. Yeah,” Patrick muttered with a nervous laugh.

The man smiled at him before turning his back to him to flip through the racks of CDs. “Good taste in music, excellent customer service, is there anything you don’t have?” he mumbled to Patrick over his shoulder, a grin on his face. All Patrick did was smile.

“So tell me, what’s someone like you working in a shit hole like this?” the man asked, pulling out a CD and looking at the track listing.

Patrick laughed. “Ah, you don’t want to know that. My parents pretty much pushed me out of the house to get a job, and this was the only option. So here I am. In this lovely shit hole, as you put it.”

“It is!” the man said with a smirk, raising his eyebrows. “Who wants to work in a music store like this?” Patrick shrugged.

“You get what you can. And this is what I got,” Patrick muttered softly, walking up to the counter, but not going behind it. 

It all made sense now. Why Pete wanted to help him so badly. Patrick had always just seen this as a way to make money. But now, he saw it as a trap. By working here, he was stuck. He was going to do poorly in school because of it, which meant less of a chance of getting into college. And once he graduated from high school, he’d be kicked out of his house. Which meant all he would have left, for the rest of his life, was the music store.

“I understand now,” the man whispered softly, walking up behind Patrick. He placed his hand on Patrick’s shoulder gently. The other went onto Patrick’s hip.

Feeling awkward of a sudden, Patrick wanted to shrug out of it. He wasn’t feeling the enthrallment he had felt before when the man first walked in. Now, he just felt that scary feeling as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. 

Like they had the other day with Flannel.

“Understand what?” The grip on his shoulder tightened. The hand on the hip was sliding up and down. A quiet laugh filled the room.

“Why Pete spoke so fondly of you, of course. Who else but a lonely little music store worker would threaten to take my worker away from me?”

Patrick gasped. Oh no. Oh no no no. He had heard too much about this guy to be caught off guard like this. He tried to pull out from under the grasp but Brandon swiftly took the arm that had been on Patrick's shoulder and looped it around his chest, his laugh growing louder as Patrick struggled to pull away.

All Patrick could think about was ‘Fuck. Pete’s going to kill me.’ Then, there was pressure at the base of his neck. And nothing.

* * *

Climbing out of the car for what he felt might have been the last time of his life, Pete felt weightless. Like he was on top of the world and nothing could hold him down. This could very well have been his last day out here working the streets.

And he wouldn’t miss it. Ever.

With a cheeky smile, he walked up to a scowling Ryan, who was shivering by a light post. As he did, Ryan’s scowl grew, obviously taking in the optimism being spread by Pete.

“What the fuck are you smiling about?” Ryan spat, sticking his jaw out Pete.

“Oh, you know. Quitting my job. Nothing big,” Pete glowed, his smile growing even bigger (if that was humanly possible.)

Ryan’s eyes bulged. “Dude. What the fuck happened? Did you like kill Flowers?”

“No,” Pete responded with a laugh. “I told him what was going on. I told him about Patrick. Instead of being the Mr. Bad-Ass I usually pride myself on, I was totally open. I told him everything about Patrick. And he listened. It seemed like he understood. And he seemed okay with it, which shocked me. He said he would think about it, but I would be good to go if it came down to it.”

Ryan was silent. All he did was look at Pete for a minute. Then another. And another.

Slowly starting to deflate, Pete laughed nervously. “Come on, you have to admit that that was pretty smart of me.”

Letting out a sigh of exasperation, Ryan shook his head mournfully. “You are the biggest fucking moron I’ve ever met. You don’t go telling personal shit like that to Flowers! Do you think he knows about me and Brendon?! He doesn’t, because he doesn’t understand, nor does he care about shit like that! He’ll only use it against you later!”

“But-”

“No, Pete! You can’t honestly think that that was going to work out for the best. You told the leader of a prostitution ring about your sixteen year old boyfriend, who you want to be the hero for and rescue! Yeah, you’re a fucking genius! You’re lucky Flowers hasn’t showed up around here tonight!”

“He did. Like an hour or two ago,” one of their friends interjected.

Ryan swore under his breath, kicking an aluminum can down the alley. Pete froze, feeling like his chest was crushed.

“What did he do?” Ryan asked.

“He was looking for Pete. Said he wanted to talk. When you weren’t here, he wandered over to that store over there. Said he wanted to check it out,” he explained, pointing to the building.

“No,” Pete whispered, barely able to get the air out.

“24 Hour-a-Day Music to Play,” Ryan read, his voice dropping in volume. “Shit.”

Pete felt frozen. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t even comprehend what was actually happening until he saw Ryan bolt off towards the music store, his short legs flailing behind him. Pete stood there for a moment, watching, before he could finally take in what was truly happening.

He had majorly fucked up.

Brandon had come down here, most likely looking to murder or maim or attack Pete for asking for his release.

Instead, Pete was delusional that he was going to be out and free and finally and in charge of himself, while in reality, the only person in this world that he actually still gave a shit about was in danger. All because of him.

As Pete began to follow Ryan, his legs moving with a mind of their own, a loud screaming noise filled his ears. He stopped short, afraid for a moment, only until he realized that it was his own hysterical voice. He took a deep breath before he ran again and burst through the door of the music store that he had become so accustomed with over the past few days.

Ryan stood by the counter, looking around the room, over and under the aisles. Pete could tell that even Ryan was scared. By the way Ryan was moving around the room, or the way he was holding his breath, or the look in his eyes - Ryan was terrified.

It was so unnerving to be in here when it was empty. Usually when he walked into the store, a figure would be at the desk, crouched over a calculus worksheet or a psychology book. Now, it was empty. The silence was deafening.

Pete walked up to the counter, looking over at the remnants of the interrupted scene. A pen and a composition book lay on the counter open. The composition book was blank, apart from the words scribbled _“Where is your boy tonight/I hope he is a gentleman/Maybe he won’t find out/You were the last good thing about this part of town_ ” with ‘Brandon’ and an arrow pointing to the word named boy. Under the words was the single word ‘Pete’ written. On the floor by the counter was a REM record.

Pete sighed, turning away from it all. Ryan was still trying to scope the whole store out. “Well, what do we do now?” Ryan whispered, his voice slightly trembling. But Pete was only half-listening, for he was looking past the counter to the back room area.

The door was shut.

But Pete couldn’t remember if it was always closed, or if this was something new. He shushed Ryan, and began to walk towards the door.

He pressed his ear to the door for a few moments, but when he heard nothing, he closed his eyes and held his breath. He could turn the knob, and find Patrick, or he could turn the knob and fuck everything up. Again.

What was better? Doing nothing, or doing something?

Pete swore under his breath as he turned the knob to the door. He heard Ryan suck in a breath behind him. He felt his own heart stop beating.

The door opened to reveal a huddled over, blindfolded Patrick on the ground. His wrists were tied behind his back with rope. Pete stood there for a millisecond, the guilt in his stomach making him want to throw up. He then jumped up and went into the room. He didn’t know if Ryan was behind him. He didn’t honestly care. All he cared about in this life was right in front of him.

“Took you long enough. And you said you would give your life for this kid.”

The door slammed shut, and a slow, deep chuckle rang out in the closet. Pete shut his eyes, feeling his stomach drop. This was not happening. He slowly turned around and found himself face to face with Brandon, who was smirking. Brandon closed the space between the two of them. He placed his hands on Pete’s shoulders, who in return, snarled.

“Pete. Pete. What can I possibly say…oh…yeah, now I remember.” In a flurry of movement, Brandon grabbed onto Pete’s jaw and slammed him into the wall. Seeing stars, Pete felt Brandon’s breath brush over his cheek. Brandon snickered, bringing his mouth close to Pete‘s ear. “Don’t fuck with me if you don’t wanna be fucked with yourself,” he whispered.

Pete swallowed, trying to keep his head calm. Things were not looking good. Right now, he needed to be anti-Pete: rational, nice, even-keeled. If anything good was going to come out of this, he needed to step up to the plate and finally be a man.

“Was that supposed to scare me, you fucking asswipe?” Pete spat.

Okay, so that was not exactly anti-Pete.

Brandon rolled his eyes. Grabbing on Pete’s arm, he spun Pete around and slammed back into the wall, only so that the two of them were face to face now. 

“Petey, you’re not exactly in the best position to be making remarks like that. I mean, I know you’re not exactly the sharpest crayon in the box, but, come on,” Brandon said, his voice suddenly lowering. “Even you’re not that stupid.” Brandon turned his head and motioned towards Patrick. “Besides, what about him? I thought you cared about him. Making shitfaced remarks like that isn’t going to help him in the least bit.”

Another snicker came out of Brandon’s lips as he sneered, turning Pete once again against the wall, slamming his so hard Pete felt his neck bounce around. “When will you learn, Pete?” Brandon’s hand slid down to Pete’s ass, where he gripped onto it. Pete bit down onto his lower lip to stop himself from saying anything. “When you screw with me, I screw you right back. Literally.”

With that, in a fluid motion, he slammed Pete’s whole body into the wall, sandwiching it together with his own body. He slowly started to move his hands up and over Pete’s hips, and then over to the front of his jeans.

Pete kept his forehead pressed against the cement wall, just keeping his eyes focused on the floor. He wanted to turn around and punch Flowers. Because he knew he could. Brandon wasn’t holding his wrist anymore. It was like Brandon was tempting him. To see if Pete would actually do it; risk Patrick’s life to save his own.

But he was scared of what would happen if he did. Besides, this wouldn’t be the first time this had happened. He was just going to stand there and take it, like he did every other time.

Brandon ran a hand through Pete’s hair, pulling his face away from the wall. “See, why can’t we be like this all the time? What’s so wrong with this? You might even, oh, I don’t know, learn to like it. I think I’m nice. A fair guy. You get what you see.” Brandon chuckled, pulling more of Pete’s hair.

Pete shut his eyes tight. All the time, every day. This was what his life accounted to. And here he was, trying to make more of himself, trying to be someone, when he didn‘t even amount to something. He was a fucking prostitute. Why should a sixteen year-old boy even be around him, especially someone like Patrick?

Brandon laughed darkly, dropping the handful of Pete’s hair and giving Pete a push. “But you see, Pete, You and I, although you may not realize it, we’re so alike.” Pete watched Brandon carefully as he stepped back, leaving the area where he had been standing against Pete cold. 

Brandon rubbed his hands together, looking back at Patrick. “I do whatever I have to do to get the money I need. It doesn’t matter who gets in my way - I just get rid of them. But you, you are much worse than I am.”

Pete turned around to watch him. He opened his mouth to say something, but his voice faltered at first. He swallowed several times, trying to get rid of the dryness in his throat. “What-what do you mean by that?” Pete felt so vulnerable right now. He never acted in this way. He had built up such an exterior that when it finally crumbled, Pete crumbled with it.

“You said that your whole world revolved around this young boy, who is completely innocent and obviously trusting in you completely,“ Brandon muttered, shrugging as he motioned to Patrick. 

He turned back to face Pete, a smile appearing on his face. “Yet you basically threw him to the dogs and didn’t seem to be worried. All so that you could get what you wanted. A ticket out. My, my, my. Pete, that is cold.”

Feeling his heart pounding in his ears, Pete was struggling to breathe. It wasn’t because Pete believed any of it. It couldn’t have been. Because Brandon was an evil man who was bent on making everyone else besides himself miserable. Why should Pete believe anything that he said? It was all lies that were just meant to get inside of Pete’s head and screw with him…

But, if they were just lies, why were they affecting him so much?

“Shut up. You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Pete replied weakly, his voice wavering.

“Pete. You seriously thought that you could pull a stunt like this and no one would get hurt? Asking for your freedom is a huge deal. Someone has to pay for it, so why should it be me?” Brandon said. He slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out a thin blade. With a grin, he stepped towards Pete, lifting up his forearm and looking at it.

What scared Pete was that it didn't phase him in the slightest bit.

But Brandon dropped Pete's arm with a sigh, leaving Pete confused. “However, seeing as you basically volunteered him for this, I think that qualifies your little boy over here." He walked over and crouched down next to Patrick, lifting up his face towards the light. 

Slowly, he turned to a very pale Pete, a grin on his face, Brandon said, "Aren't you so glad you got him involved now? Everything - even  more of what happens to him...it'll all be your fault."

“Brandon, wait - what - no. You - can’t - you. No - not him. Leave him alone,” Pete said, his voice slowly losing confidence. He still couldn’t believe that this had gone this way, nor that he had thought it was going to work out. He was so fucking stupid. This was all his fault. For him thinking that it was going to run smoothly. For him wanting a better life. For him having a smidgen of hope.

“Patrick never asked to be involved in this. It was my fault. Leave him out of this,” Pete growled, his voice growing in volume.

“Exactly. He didn’t ask to. You brought him into it. It was your fault. So, he gets to pay for your mistakes. The worst kind of scars are the ones that don’t leave marks,” Brandon responded dryly, looking at the still unconscious Patrick. Angling his face towards the light, Brandon placed the metal of the blade on Patrick’s cheek. With a swipe of his hand, there was a clean narrow cut traveling lengthwise along the flesh under his eye.

As soon as Pete saw the glint of the light, his stomach turned. He tore his eyes away from the area. All while he was doing this Brandon was chuckling to himself. Pete didn’t know what to do. As he saw the light move again, Brandon laying the blade down again on Patrick’s pale skin, he realized he couldn’t deal with this anymore. Something snapped.

With a lunge, Pete grabbed Brandon’s wrist and pulled it away from Patrick. Brandon was taken by surprise, giving Pete the upper hand for about ten seconds, which was enough time to pull Brandon about ten feet away from Patrick. Pete and Brandon went back and forth with the knife, Pete desperately trying to pull it out of his hands. At one point Brandon was almost on Pete’s back, with Pete pulling the knife with Brandon still attached farther away from Patrick.

What happened next didn’t make sense to Pete for a long time. In what could only be described as thirty or so seconds, Pete was feeling the handle of the blade start to slip out of his hands, as his palms were starting to sweat. However, slowly the grip on the other end of the knife loosened until Pete had the knife in his own hands completely.

He turned around and saw Brandon on the ground unconscious, a red line traveling the circling around his neck. Pete slowly looked up, and met Patrick’s gaze, who was holding the cloth that had been wrapped around his eyes in his hand. He dropped it onto Brandon.

Pete opened his mouth to ask, but Patrick answered before he could. “I wasn’t unconscious the whole time. In fact, for most of it. I heard was he was saying, I was awake when he…” he trailed off, reaching up, gingerly brushing his fingers across the open cuts on his face. Patrick closed his eyes, shaking his head. He then opened them, looking to Pete.

“Behind me, there was a nail sticking out of the wall. So while he was waiting for you and talking to you, I worked to tear through the ropes, and then waited for the right moment,” Patrick said quietly.

Pete swallowed, nodding. He dropped the knife onto the ground, turning his head away from Patrick. He couldn’t bare to look at him, to look at the cuts…

Everything had changed. It shouldn’t have, but what Brandon had said had meant something to Pete. It had all been true in a way. Pete had just cared about getting off the streets that he hadn’t even thought about the fucking consequences of his actions. It didn’t matter that he had good intentions or whatever. He didn’t care enough about Patrick to make sure that nothing would happen to him.

And it hurt him to know that.

Patrick must’ve noticed the change in the atmosphere, because he took a step towards him. “Pete…” he started, reaching his hand out towards the older man.

Pete simply watched him. He wanted to do something. He knew he should, just like he had in the bar last night. But, it was just so different. He felt like a different person now. He looked at the pain is Patrick’s face, the hurt in his eyes. Looking down to the outstretched hand, he recoiled away from it.

“I - I can’t do this anymore.”

He walked out, feeling Patrick’s as well as Ryan’s eyes on him. But it didn’t matter. He couldn’t be around these two anymore feeling like the monster he finally knew he was.

***

Pete sat on a park bench in downtown Highland Park, already feeling sick to his stomach. It had been two months since the encounter with Brandon, yet he hadn’t spoken to Patrick or Ryan since. There had been countless texts from Patrick the first week, which were pleading him to respond. Patrick was apologizing over and over in them for things that he didn’t do, just saying that he wanted to talk to Pete. 

He had to force himself to delete them. But as he did, he told himself it was for the best. He was saving Patrick from someone as awful as himself. Then, there had been a pretty nasty one from Ryan, calling him countless names and telling him that he was going to lose out on the best thing that would ever happen to him, as well as a best friend. As he deleted that one, he almost threw up.

The last one he had gotten was from Brendon, Ryan’s boyfriend, about a month ago. It had read ‘ _idk whats goin on between u and ry, but fix it asap. hes really upset and says its your fault’_

Pete had thought about telling Brendon off, but he realized that would just be reinforcing the idea that Pete was bad influence on everyone around him. Ryan would get over it. He had Brendon to lean on. It wasn’t like Pete ran to without any reason to it. It was just that Ryan and Patrick refused to see it.

Patrick…fuck.

None of that was supposed to happen. Patrick was supposed to be happy. He was finally supposed to live a good life, with someone who would care for him instead of not giving a shit about him.

It was supposed to be Pete. Pete wanted it to be him. So, so badly.

It - it just couldn’t be. Not anymore.

He pulled out his phone. 2:37. Ryan was supposed to meet him here at 2:30. He had gotten a text from him three days ago, asking him to meet Ryan here so that Ryan could give him all of his stuff back.

Pete wanted to respond with a no, but he figured the least he could do was to see Ryan one more time and take all of his stuff off of Ryan’s hands.

Now that Brandon Flowers was in jail, Pete was finishing up his high school degree. He lived in an apartment with the rest of Arma Angelus, and still did a few small shows every month. But it was nowhere close to where Pete had wanted to direct his life to.

2:43.

“Pete?” a voice asked from behind him.

Pete quickly turned around, expecting to see a pissed off Ryan, arms crossed with garbage bags all around him.

What he wasn’t expecting was Patrick, backpack slung over his shoulder, notebook in his hand, still looking like he had two months ago - lost.

Pete cringed, turned back around as Patrick came to sit next him on the bench. A good two feet away from him on the other end of it. Pete stared at the ground, though he could feel Patrick's eyes on him, almost like he was afraid that Pete was going to run again. 

After a good two minutes of awkward silence, Patrick finally spoke. "Um. I - I wrote you a song. For your band. To like sing. I had started it before...but I wanted to give the finished one to you." With that, he handed a bunch of notebook papers to Pete, who reluctantly took them, still keeping his eyes on away from Patrick's.

Pete began to flip through lyrics, skimming over the words. The song...it was about him, and Patrick, and Brandon. And how Patrick wanted to be with him. 

 _"You need him. I could be him. I could be an accident but I'm still tryin'. That's more than I can say for him..."_ Pete read to himself softly, trailing off as he came to that part. As he read more and more of them, he was brought back to that week that he had spent with Patrick. Before he ruined it all. 

He sighed, turning to Patrick. "Why are you here?"

"I miss you. I was kicked out of my house, lost my job, and the only one who offered me a place to stay was Ryan. So now, all I get to do is listen to him mutter under his breath about you and how he's so happy you're gone. But then at night, I hear him whisper and cry to Brendon about how he should've stopped you. So for both me and Ryan, I came to see you. And give you the song..." Patrick shrugged. 

Pete remained silent. He wanted to fold so bad. It would be so simple. To just say that he had been wrong and that he would come home. But he couldn't. Because he promised himself he wouldn't...

"You wasted your time. I can't come home. I can't help you anymore. How was I going to be your everything when I barely amount to anything? You deserve more. And I won't stand for that. So you should just -"

Patrick cut him off as he cut the space on the bench and cupped Pete's jaw in his hands. Pete stopped talking immediately, as no more words could formulate in his mouth. Their lips meeting at first was messy, as both of them weren't very experienced in this aspect. Patrick hadn't kissed anyone since fourth grade, and Pete hadn't kissed anyone on his own accord since sophomore year. 

It was a clash of lips, teeth and tongues, but slowly, Pete began to take control, placing a hand on Patrick's waist to pull him closer. He was half-expecting himself to wake up from some awful nightmare, or just waiting for Patrick to pull away and realize what huge mistake he had made.

But when Patrick did finally pull away, he was smiling, a pink hue fresh in his cheeks.

"Will you please come home with me?" he asked, slipping his hand into Pete's. "For once, let me be there. For you. Because that's all I want."

Feeling a smile grow on his face, Pete turned to Patrick. "Me too." He saw relief wash over Patrick's face, his shoulder's relaxing. 

"So you'll come back?"

"Yeah," Pete said, looking back through the lyrics, still shocked at how well Patrick had captured him. If someone had the ability to put all of their feelings like this into a song and write it just for Pete, he couldn't say no. He didn't want to.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be."


End file.
